Them
by AmyKat
Summary: They spent a year in the company of each other's arms. When they meet on opposite sides of the battlefield, how will they react? Darkish Ginny...We'll call her grey. GWDM. Just to clarify, this is a oneshot.


They were happy together.

All throughout her fifth year, his sixth, they were together, secretly. They met in dark corridors in the dead of night, when the world was still and there was nothing and no one to concern them, except for themselves, the beating of their hearts, and that they were together. They weaved through the castle, stopping in random classrooms, bathrooms, and Rooms of the Required variety, to speak to each other in their soft voices and steal soft kisses from their lips.

Draco Malfoy wasn't different. He was still cold. He was still harsh. He still abhorred muggles. His sense of humor was just as caustic and sarcastic, but so was Ginevra Weasley's, so that was okay. He still hated Potter, and Granger, and the male Weasley, but sometimes, so did she, so that was okay too. He still intended to go to the Dark side, and he still idolized his father. That shouldn't have been okay, but she understood the pull of the Dark, and Voldemort, and Tom Riddle, and family, so she forgave him for it.

She sometimes even wondered if he was right. Because she _was_ different. Or, at least, different from the image she constantly portrayed. She had retained some of the Darkness invested in her by Tom Marvolo Riddle. But not enough to fully change her loyalties. Just enough to alter her character slightly. Now, she was cold and harsh, but skilled at showing outward warmth and gentleness. Skilled enough to convince Potter that she still loved him, although she only pretended to do so at the order of Albus Dumbledore, who felt that the Hero could take no more heartache. She still intended to support the light side, if not fight for it explicitly. But every time she felt ignored and angry, she thought of Tom, and the attentive way he had treated her to the very end, and the light with which her boyfriend's eyes shone when he spoke of the Dark and his Lord and the power and wealth and fear he would gain in the Death Eaters' ranks.

It didn't bother her when he spoke of such things, or when he called the muggleborns "Mudblood" and cursed them, figuratively and literally. She listened thoughtfully, and even sometimes snickered softly at the things he said and did.

They did, after all, have similar humors.

So when the day came when he and Snape fled from the castle, his inability to accomplish his mission only due to Snape's promise to his mother, and one of his own, to the same woman, she cried her broken heart out. She knew that the day was coming, but she mourned the loss of him and their secret whispers of love.

* * *

That was over three years ago. The war was now in full swing, and Ginevra Weasley was the "warm and gentle" Head Healer to the Order of the Phoenix. She was still an accomplished actress. Potter, Granger, and Weasley were still on their noble quest to save the world. Potter had promised to return to her; she didn't really care if he died out there, except that then, this blasted war would never end.

She still thought of Draco. She still wondered if his way was the right way. She wondered if he still loved her.

She still loved him.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was now a general in the Dark Lord's army, which held a vast lead against the Light's forces. He was the same harsh man as ever, and much of the advantage had been won by his battle plans, carried out by the troops under his command.

He still thought of Ginevra, his Nevra. He wondered if she would follow him, if he asked. He wondered if she still loved him.

He still loved her.

* * *

It was a crisp, slushy day in February, and battle was raging. People scurried for cover and above the sounds of screams and spells the clash of swords was heard, a weapon wielded by the Dark for its tradition and by the Light for…well, how else do you fight against a sword?

Nevra moved about, half-heartedly but convincingly – for that was how she did everything -- in a rundown building almost in the midst of the battle, converted to an emergency room for the day's casualties. They would need to move soon; the sounds of war were coming too close for comfort.

Draco Malfoy surveyed the smoldering battlefield with a haughty smirk, before turning from his victory and leading a small squad into the Light's makeshift hospital.

Take no prisoners was a good approach.

He went about his work, methodically ridding the building of the scum it held. And then he saw her.

She wasn't screaming, wasn't crying, wasn't fighting like the rest of the unfortunate players from the Light team. She just stood, partly ensconced in shadow, watching the proceedings. She didn't try to escape. She stood.

He crept up behind her – amazingly, considering there was very little space between her and the wall – wrapped an arm around her waist and a hand around her mouth and apparated.

She managed not to shriek when she felt someone's arms hold her in place – well, not too loudly, at any rate. She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the beginnings of an apparition, but also the beginnings of fear. Was she to die today, alone and unloved?

When her lungs re-inflated, she kept her eyes firmly closed. She didn't want to face whatever horrible death befell her, cowardly as that may be. Some might say that it was un-Gryffindor-like, but wasn't she truly a Slytherin at heart, any way? So she didn't see the awestruck face that turned to hers, but she did feel its closeness as he leant down to whisper in her ear:

"You know, it's not like a Gryffindor to refuse to face her fears."

They always did think alike.

Her eyes snapped open to meet a Death Eater's mask, and the pair of eyes staring out of it… silver eyes. Her hands flew to her mouth before reaching, trembling, to push back his hood – revealing white blond hair -- and pull the mask away from his face.

"Draco," she breathed. There wasn't enough air left in her lungs to say much else.

He smiled at her – slowly, and only just slightly. "I missed you."


End file.
